Empire
by Drow Elf
Summary: My version of the much anticipated third book. I hope it lives up to your anticipations. Please review and tell me.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: Anything that I may write in this fanfic must not be accredited to me, but to Mr. Paolini for the creation of the setting and characters. You may, however, feel free to send reviews comparing and/or contrasting my work to that of the magnificent Paolini's.

**Empire**

_Chapter One_

The Last Beginning

Zar'roc glowed the color of blood in the flickering torchlight. Murtagh lay broken and bleeding in the corner, the cold, jagged edges of the stone walls irritating his already torn flesh. Even his old scar, the one his father had bestowed upon him, was throbbing painfully, as it had not done in years.

"Please," he sobbed, choking his words around a throat swollen from weeping and numerous asphyxiations, "please, my liege, no more. No more. I swear my undying loyalty to you, in any language you care to hear. Just please, my lord, end this."

Even as the words left his mouth, he knew it was no use. He had made many such pleas. How many, he could not count. He did not even know how long he had been in this room. Hours, days, months….years. He didn't know, nor did he care. He just wanted it to end, whether with his death or his continued service. It did not matter.

Countless times he had found himself in this state: broken, unable to move, his blood and innards spread out across the floor. Each time he had thought the sweet embrace of death would take him, take him away from this horror.

It never did. Always King Galbatorix had healed him at the last moment, pouring in his seemingly limitless magical energies into Murtagh until all his wounds were healed and his endurance revitalized, all in preparation for another torture session.

Sure enough, Murtagh felt the surprisingly gentle hands on his head. He winced as they pressed against his cracked skull, but soon sighed with relief as he felt tissue and bone knitting together, seemingly of their own accord. Soon, he felt completely healed and revitalized, as if he had just awoken from a good night's sleep after several days of rest.

Steeling himself against what he knew was yet to come; he clambered to his feet to face his lord.

Galbatorix's gaze was terrible to behold. Disappointment and malice flowed from the man like the smell of death wafts off a carcass. In one hand, the one with the gedwëy ignasia, he held a terrible black sword, a Dragon Rider's sword. In his other hand, he held a similar sword, except the blade was red, and the stone fixed upon the hilt was a ruby: Zar'roc.

Galbatorix tossed Zar'roc to the ground before Murtagh's feet. "Pick it up."

Murtagh's knees bent before he could consciously consider whether to obey or not. For the millionth time, he mentally cursed at the oaths in the Ancient Language he had taken. He grasped the sword firmly by the hilt, but did not hold the blade in a defensive position. "My lord," he whispered, "this is not necessary. I have learned my lesson a thousand times over. I shall never fail you again. I shall bring you the Varden's dragon rider and his dragon. If he resists, I shall cut him. I will make him beg to be brought before you."

Galbatorix's face remained impassive, but Murtagh could have sworn a twitch of a maniacal grin had flashed across his face. "Impressive," said Galbatorix in his disconcerting, melodious voice, rolling like the unstoppable wind across the prairie hills, "and yet I am not convinced. You swore to me twice before, once in the Ancient Language, and both times you betrayed me."

"Third time's the charm," said Murtagh, daring to throw in a bit of humor into the utterly humorless situation.

"Yes, but for whom?" mused Galbatorix. "Will you prove yourself to me in this third trial, or will you be a major part in my downfall in your third betrayal?"

"I will not betray you."

"Truly? I wish I could believe you, O son of my friend. However, you have shown yourself to be quite untrustworthy."

Murtagh's final plea could barely be heard above the echoing screams from deeper in the dungeons, "One. More. Chance."

Galbatorix considered, and then shrugged. "Very well, you will have your last chance to prove yourself my loyal subject. A word of caution: You betray me again, and I will consider you a dangerous liability. Your dragon is male. I have an extra. I would ensure that your death will be the most painful one in centuries."

Murtagh fell to his knees before Galbatorix, kissing the hem of his robes. "Thank you, my lord. You are merciful. I will bring Eragon to you, I vow."

Galbatorix nodded, then, with a savage cry, raised his pitch blade high with both hands and struck down across Murtagh's back.

Murtagh's anguished scream reverberated about the stone walls. Blood quickly soaked through his ruined tunic and streamed down his thighs, spreading in a crimson puddle about his shins and kneecaps.

Galbatorix stepped back, having no plans to heal this latest injury. "You are to leave that scar there to match the one Morzan gave you," he commanded, "to remind you of the vow you just made."

Murtagh gritted his teeth against the pain, trying not to twist whatsoever. "My lord," he choked, "Eragon will be brought before you upon his knees, or his head will rest upon a pike for your decorative amusement."


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

_The Reluctant Hunter_

Murtagh gave the leather strap a sharp tug, eliciting a low rumble from deep within Thorn's throat.

_I didn't hurt you, did I?_ asked Murtagh quickly.

_No, the saddle pinches a bit, though_, said Thorn, working his massive ruby wings up and down to stretch his flying muscles.

Murtagh deftly tied a quick succession of knots, securing the saddle tightly onto the dragon. _Today we fly. Your wounds no longer trouble you, do they?_

Thorn nuzzled Murtagh gently with his snout. _No, you healed them well, my friend. The only thing that pains me is the injury Galbatorix inflicted upon you. I share your hurt through our bond._

_Then close your mind to me. You needn't hurt when I do, and you can understand me well enough with spoken word._

_I cannot do that, Murtagh. What you feel, I shall share. We are one, and no amount of pain is going to change that._

Murtagh fought back his tears with sheer willpower, and hugged his friend, his last friend, tightly about the neck. _Come, we must locate my rogue brother._

Thorn snorted. _No easy feat._

_Eragon is resourceful and determined. However, he is also young, and has not had the level of teaching we have had. Worry not, my friend. Together, nothing could stand against us._

Thorn hung his head. _Unfortunately for the world, we are on the wrong side._

This was not what Murtagh wanted to hear. _I swore to Galbatorix in the Ancient Language. We both did. Don't think about it as us being on the wrong side. We never supported the Varden. Theirs is the path to anarchy and chaos. We merely work for the wrong person. No one can last forever, not even Galbatorix. Someday—it may take years, even decades— we will overthrow the tyrant, and then we can make things the way we want them to be. We shall bring peace to __Alagaësía__, such a harmony that has not been seen since the days of the ancient Dragon Riders. No, Thorn, we are not on the wrong side. The only problem is that the person controlling our side is a raving lunatic._

_I am so reassured._

_Well, what do you want from me? The system is sound. The king is not. But we are sworn to the king. The king wants Eragon. We shall bring Eragon._

_How do we find him? We lost him in all those months when he was in __Ellesméra._

Murtagh grinned. _I shall scry him._

_He bears an enchantment preventing this._

Murtagh nodded and produced a tiny mirror from a pouch on his belt. _Yes, oh I should have thought of this before. The enchantment prevents him from being scried, and probably his dragon too. But what about his dear cousin, who was rampaging about the Burning Plains, who killed the Twins? Odds are he's with him._

Thorn considered. _Do you need my strength to help you?_

_No. This is simple enough._ Murtagh peered into the mirror, concentrated, and whispered, "Draumr kópa." Immediately the visage of Roran swam into view; he looked worried and slightly sick. In the background, Murtagh could catch glimpses of Saphira's tail.

_Can you see them? Where are they?_ asked Thorn.

_I can see them. They're flying. I don't know where. _Then the blue dragon veered to the left, offering Murtagh a clear view of Eragon's destination.

_Helgrind, _said Murtagh solemnly. _They're going after the Ra'zac._


End file.
